April 9, 2009 - Maundy Thursday, Year B (RCL)
It was the night before he died
that Jesus took bread and broke it, and took wine and shared it,
and ever since then,
Sunday by Sunday,
we have been doing the same thing.
But tonight is different.
Tonight
we remember that eucharistic meal
in the context of an ordinary meal,
just as it as the very first time,
not just a taste of bread and sip of wine
but the body and blood of Christ
in the midst of ordinary food.
We don’t know for sure
what that first meal was.
Matthew Mark and Luke say it was the Passover meal,
the same meal
that our Jewish friends ate
last night;
John puts it a day earlier,
but either way
the story of that original passover,
when God struck down the firstborn of everyone and everything
in the land of Egypt,
except for the firstborn of the Israelites;
Goad passed over their homes
the doorposts marked
with blood.
It’s a day of celebration
of a rescue long ago,
a day of celebration of the grace of God
on offering freedom to his people,
but also a day
overshadowed
by death.
Because we can’t forget
those firstborn who died.
As in every battle for freedom
there are casualties,
and the casualties that time
were the Israelites neighbors,
their employers, some even
their friends.
The bitter sweetness
of every battle won
at the cost of another’s life.
And it is a night that was for the disciples
mixed as well.
They were in Jerusalem,
there for the festival,
and Jesus their master, their teacher, their Lord
had been welcomed
by the crowds,
a red-carpet welcome
of palms and cloaks.
But at the same time,
there was a shadow.
The leaders
had been agitating;
all week
they’d been aware of murmurs,
and whispered conversations in corners,
and not-so-friendly glances
when they went to the temple.
Let alone Jesus’ own words, his obsession, it seemed
with suffering
and death.
And then the meal, rich and full,
as befitted a celebration,
a celebration of the grace of God
as they experienced it
in their friend Jesus.
But there was also an undertone
of something else,
something they didn’t quite
understand.
Like when Jesus picked up a towel
and like a common servant knelt
and washed their feet.
This wasn’t the celebration they expected.
And even more troubling
the dinner table conversation,
Jesus kept talking
about leaving
and they didn’t want him to go,
couldn’t understand why
he was spoiling
the occasion.
And those strange words on the side,
words about betrayal.
And while on the outside they kept up
the bright chatter of celebration
underneath they were afraid,
afraid of what might happen,
afraid of what their friend was saying,
afraid he might be crazy
or even worse
it might be true,
afraid that they would lose
the very center,
the balance point
of their lives.
And if only they could simply prolong the meal,
have it stretch
to eternity
without fear of what might happen,
prolong that quiet satisfaction
of stomachs full and wine drunk and good conversation.
The bitter sweetness
of every meal
when time is short.
And this night that we celebrate,
this night
is like that one.
A time when we join with the people of Israel
and the disciples
in a meal,
celebrating the grace of freedom from slavery
and the grace of a precious last meal with friends,
and the grace of a community of faith,
brought together by the God
who loved us so much
that he sent his Son.
And it’s grace that we can taste,
hummus and pita and tabbouli and soup,
reminding us
of all the graces and blessings that we receive from God.
And especially the grace that we taste
in bread and wine,
body and blood,
the forgiveness and love of our God and Savior.
And one of the reasons we need this meal each year
is that sometimes, I suspect,
we forget
that the bread and the wine of the Eucharist
is really bread and wine.
Yes, we receive and know it
as the body and blood of our savior,
but it is also
real
food.
During the week I was talking with one of our younger parishioners,
and asked her what she thinks about when she’s receiving the Eucharist.
And she told me,
that she thinks about how Jesus died for us for a good reason, to save our lives. And that sometimes she thinks,
“Yes, food! I’m starving!”
And she’s right.
Because this meal reminds us
that we are indeed starving, starving for God.
And in the Eucharist, we hear the words of Jesus himself:
‘“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty”
And we echo the psalm,
“Taste and see that the Lord is good;
happy are they who trust in him!”
This is the food
of grace,
the food that we have eaten together
and the food that we will eat around the altar.
And as we reach for God, God will indeed
satisfy us.
© Raewynne J. Whiteley 2009